warm-not painful

[m_d_h]

My body speaks to me, its rhythms changing, winding down. My chest feels warm—not painful, different. My hands, my feet—they seem far away, as the edges of myself blur, fading into the world.

Time behaves strangely. Moments stretch and contract, refusing to follow the rules. My memories surface, not as flood but as small, vivid frags. I see myself running as a child, the crunch of leaves under my feet. I feel the soft weight of Astrid curled beside me, her fur beneath my fingers. These moments don’t play like a reel of my life; they exist, timeless, as if always here,